


A Haunting We Will Go

by Predec2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 09:42:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3645627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Predec2/pseuds/Predec2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin is convinced there is something odd going on at Britin. Brian just thinks he's out of his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Haunting We Will Go

 

DISCLAIMER: QAF AND ITS CHARACTERS ARE THE EXCLUSIVE PROPERTY OF COWLIP PRODUCTIONS AND SHOWTIME.  NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT IS INTENDED.

* * *

 

I was only ten minutes away when my cell rang, and that was when it all began...

 

"Hey."

 

"You've got to come home NOW!" was the urgent voice on the other end.

 

I tried to tamp down my concern over the fear in Justin's voice, deliberately keeping my own voice calm as I asked, "Why? What's going on?  Are you okay?"  Silence.  "Justin, hello, talk to me, damn it!"

 

"I guess so, at least so far," was the enigmatic, maddening reply at last.  "Where are you?"

 

I could hear the nervous hitch in his voice as I explained, "I'm almost home, about ten minutes to go.  What's going on, Justin?"

 

"I'm not sure, just pull into the garage when you get here but leave the door open just in case."

 

"What the fuck?  What in the hell is going on there?  Are you sure you're all right?"  My left hand gripped the steering wheel so tightly, my knuckles were white as I waited for his response.

 

"So far... Just hurry, okay?"

 

"Justin, you're freaking me out," I responded, my voice rising a little with my own fear.  "Can you be a little more specific here?  Are you being held hostage or something?"

 

"No, not in the normal sense of the word, anyway.  Listen, I've got to go - hurry!"  And with that, the little shit actually hung up on me.  I stared at the now quiet phone in my hand, my mouth open, wondering if I should call his mother or the fucking police.  I tried to call him back - several times - but he didn't answer.  _What the_...?  He did say he was okay - at least sort of.  Was he playing some sort of joke on me, then?  If he was, it was not amusing in the least.  Finally deciding that I could get there faster than anyone else could, I gunned the engine and hurried toward Britin, arriving in record time seven minutes later.

 

Pushing the remote control button attached to the car's visor to enter the three-car garage, I barely stopped to put the car in park and turn the engine off before flinging the Vette's driver's side open and rushing to the door leading directly into the kitchen, various scenarios of Justin being held with a knife to his throat or tied up somewhere (and not in a good way) while he was forced to call me to lure me into a trap invading my mind, but I forced them down until I turned the door handle, discovering to my alarm that the door wouldn't open, even though the handle turned easily enough.  I jiggled the door handle a couple more times, knowing I didn't have a key with me since we normally didn't lock this interior door and hoping it was just stuck, but it still wouldn't budge.  "Justin?" I called against the heavy oak wood of the door, my fears mounting now.  "It's Brian; open the fucking door!"  I pressed my ear flush against the door, trying to discern movement inside but hearing nothing; nothing, that is, except my pounding heart in my chest.  "Justin!  Open this damn door NOW!"  I then began to beat on the door in earnest until I thought I heard my partner's voice coming from inside.

 

"Hold on!" I heard Justin say to my great relief.

 

Finally, after what seemed like an interminable delay but in reality was only about fifteen seconds, I could hear some sort of scuffling-type noise on the other side, followed by the deadbolt being slid back and the door being opened.  Two seconds after that, I had an armful of blond plastered against me.  I slid my arms around his slender waist to hold him close for a just a moment, savoring the fact that he seemed okay, until I pulled back enough to look him in the face to make doubly sure that he was, indeed, unharmed.  Satisfied that he appeared to be in one piece and that his phone call to me might have been just a tad overwrought, I couldn't help growling, "Justin, what in the fuck was that phone call all about?  Were you missing my cock so desperately that you had to scare me to death?  Or did you burn a soufflé and couldn't handle the grief that ensued?  Fuck, I was _this_ close to calling the cops after that call, especially when you wouldn't answer any of my other calls; do you realize that?  Was that some sick practical joke you were pulling on me?  Because it was NOT funny."

 

While I waited for his reply, I glanced around to make sure nothing seemed remiss.  Out of the corner of my eye I noticed an object that appeared out of place as I peered downward; it was a white, metal rod with a rubber foot on one end and a two-pronged hook on the other propped up just to the side of the door.  I recognized it as one of those contraptions elderly people take on vacation with them so they can shove them up against the bottom of their hotel room doors to keep burglars out.  "Where did this come from?  And why is it down here in the kitchen?"

 

"I got it out of the guest bedroom closet upstairs; it's the one Mel and Lindsay left here by mistake the last time they came to visit."   The two women had stayed at a hotel on the way down during their last trip with Gus and had forgotten to repack it when they had left. 

 

"O-kay," I responded, drawing the word out as I bent to pick the object up, wondering if I should hit my partner in the ass with it now for frightening me over nothing.  "But that still doesn't explain why it's down _here -_ and what the fuck that call was all about."  I slapped the metal rod against my palm like a cop with a Billy club before, afraid that my violent thoughts might manifest themselves in an unpleasant manner, I laid the metal rod back against the wall and placed my hands on my hips expectantly to stare into my partner's eyes for an explanation.

 

Justin appeared to be flustered, his face turning that intriguing shade of pink that it always did when he was embarrassed as he began to explain, "I was fixing us dinner - Peanut Thai Chicken," he said almost proudly, as if telling me he had been making my favorite dish would make up for worrying me to death.  "It was about an hour ago.  I was standing in front of the stove, stirring the peanut sauce, when all of a sudden I heard this banging noise upstairs in my studio!  It was so loud I must have jumped two feet off the ground."

 

"Impressive," I quipped with a half-smile on my face.  "Half your total height; maybe we should contact the U.S. Olympic Pole Vaulting Committee."

 

"Fuck you," he said in irritation.  "Do you want to know what happened or not?"

 

I rolled my eyes before sighing wearily.  "You were saying?"

 

I watched him walk over to the stove as if he were about to do a reenactment of the crime.  Sure enough, he reached over and placed a cooking pan onto the front burner and picked up a wooden spoon to begin stirring what I assume was my now-cold dinner as he continued, "Well, I put the spoon down," he told me as he placed the utensil in the frying pan and went through the motions of placing the pan back on an unlit, rear burner.  "And I turned the burner off..."

 

I sighed as I closed the door and began to reach again for the security apparatus, wondering how long this scene-by-scene play would take.

 

"Put that back under the doorknob," Justin told me, but he immediately changed his mind as I went to pick it up.  "No, never mind," he corrected himself hastily.  "If they want to leave, we don't want anything to stop them."  He smacked his forehead then as he said, "What was I thinking? They don't _need_ doors.  Brian, when was this house built?"

 

I gave him a long-suffering look of confusion; Justin frequently did or said things that didn't seem to make sense, but he seemed to be outdoing himself tonight.  I felt the beginnings of a migraine coming on, borne from way too much caffeine, way too many hours working in front of my laptop, and Justin's nonsensical chattering.  Pinching my nose briefly, I let out a breath to calm myself.  "Justin, what the fuck are we talking about here?  I need some aspirin and a bottle of Beam... And a partner who isn't insane."

 

But he just ignored me as he asked out of the blue, "What do we know about this house, Brian?"

 

I rolled my eyes as I pulled on my tie to loosen it; shrugging out of my jacket, I laid it carefully across the desk chair nearby and braced myself with my hand on the back of it before I responded, "Well, it's made of brick in the Tudor influence; has _lovely_ grounds perfectly landscaped with a garden to welcome those guests who..."

 

"Shut up!  I mean, who lived here before us?"

 

I sighed again, more heavily this time.  I had been looking forward to some relaxation this evening - a nice, long, soak in the hot tub followed by some nice, long, fucking with my favorite - and now only - fucking partner, following by a dive into the pool, followed by a dive into Justin...Well, you get the idea.  But my hopes were fading just like my ability to follow my partner's train of thought.  "I have no idea, Justin," I finally answered.  "I didn't exactly ask for a full report of its pedigree before I bought it, remember?  What difference does it make?"  I shook my head in frustration.  "Will you please try to make some sense here?"

 

That's when that preposterous statement fell from his lips, the beginning of the longest couple of days I have ever had to endure.  "I think this house is haunted."

 

I stood there, my mouth open.  Did he say what I thought he just said?  I snickered.  "Haunted... Ooh.  Is it a friendly ghost or a scary one?  Casper?  Beetlejuice?  No, I've got it!  It has to be _Count Chocula_!"  I laughed at my joke as Justin's face turned red with anger, but I couldn't help it - it was all so hysterically funny, and besides, the little twat deserved it after that phone call.

 

"Damn it, Brian!  You weren't here alone in this gigantic house - in the dark - while something - or someone - was creeping around upstairs."

 

"Aw...Was widdle Justin too scared to go up and check which ghost it was?"  I couldn't help grinning.  I sobered somewhat, though, when I noticed Justin wasn't laughing along with me.  "Justin, I'm sure it was just the wind or something.  You know how drafty this house can be, especially upstairs."  My partner merely continued to stare at me, unconvinced, his arms crossed over his chest.

 

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I muttered as I picked up my jacket from the back of the chair.  "I'll go up and take a look; will you be satisfied then?"

 

"Well, I'm going with you," Justin decided impetuously as he joined me by the hallway door.  I had to guffaw as he picked up a skillet by the handle that was lying in the dishwashing rack next to him.  "What... Are you going to offer to fry them an egg if we run into them?  Put the pan down, Jessica Rabbit," I chided him as I gently extracted the cast iron pan from his hand and placed it down on the counter.  I couldn't believe I was even saying _THEM_.  There WAS no ‘them.'  It was all either Justin's fertile imagination or some freak act of nature; nothing less, nothing more.  It was time to get to the bottom of whatever it was, though, or I was never going to get to 'the bottom' of someone else later...

 

"Come on," I urged him as I began to walk with him toward the steps located at the end of the hallway, Justin practically welded to my body.  "I'll protect you, Mr. Taylor," I told him as I whispered in his ear.  "I have dibs on that hot little ass of yours later."

 

Justin huffed beside me as he held on tightly to my arm, reminding me of another time when we had walked down that one street in the Pitts when he had clamped onto my arm so strongly that I was sure I'd have black and blue bruises for several days afterward.  "Well, it doesn't feel so hot right now," he growled.  "The whole downstairs feels like the temperature's dropped ten degrees since I heard that noise; it's like a fucking tomb down here." I felt him shiver at my side as I slid my arm around his waist to pull him closer.

 

I stopped all of a sudden to turn Justin around in my arms as I grasped him by the elbows, a sudden thought occurring to me; it was all so ridiculous, I couldn't help kidding around with my way-too-serious partner just a little more.   "Do you suppose ghosts can still fuck even after they're dead? If they could, it probably wouldn't be much different than some of the losers I've had at Babylon, though - I mean, _had_ ," I quickly corrected myself as Justin gave me a death glare of a look.

 

"Keep it up," Justin said, bristling at me.  "Go ahead; just keep telling yourself that nothing is happening around here.  You don't remember the painting that fell off the wall all by itself last week?  Huh?"

 

"Oh, come on, Justin!  You're taking this way too seriously!  That hook was old as fuck; that's the only reason why it fell," I reminded him, although it HAD been weird how it had fallen just as we were about to fuck on the study's leather couch that night; maybe our ghost was a _jealous_ ghost... 

 

Justin looked so indignant just then that I had to lean down and give him a soft kiss on his impertinent lips.  As I pulled apart slightly from him, I whispered, "Now let's go scare the shit of them so we can show them what they're missing."

 

* * *

_Five Minutes Later..._

 

I had to admit as we approached the old-fashioned, wooden door leading up the cavernous attic that had been remodeled into Justin's studio that it _did_ feel colder than it should.  Normally, it was more like a sauna up here; so much so that Justin had two pedestal fans set up on either end of the dormer-style, long and narrow room to keep the space cooler.  As I reached for the crystal door handle, though, I could feel a cold wind escaping through the crack between the door and the frame and I frowned.  I couldn't imagine where the air could be coming from - we had been careful to have the house fully insulated when we had first moved in - but it WAS an old structure and we hadn't lived in it for very long.  There had to be numerous things about the house that we didn't know yet, including some nooks and crannies that could let air escape.

 

"You feel that?" Justin said by my side as he continued to hold onto my forearm tightly; as usual he didn't miss a thing.  "You feel that chilly air?  Where would that be coming from, Brian?  You know how hot it always is up there."

 

"Maybe it's Old Man Winter coming to visit," I snarked with a grin as he huffed beside me.  "Come on.  Just stay right behind me, only... _Don't go into the light,_ Sunshine," I intoned in a monotone voice as if my body had been taken over by Tangina in _The Poltergeist_.  " _Don't go into the light._ "

 

Justin smacked me on the arm as I chuckled.  "You're not helping, Brian!  Just open the fucking door!"

 

I noticed as he said that, however that he continued to stay behind my taller frame.  Slowly, Justin trailing along right behind me almost as if he were plastered to my back, I began to climb the narrow steps leading up to his studio attic, listening despite my previous reassurances for any telltale signs of a supernatural presence.  The only sounds I could hear, however, were our footsteps clattering on the hardwood of the stairs and Justin's rapid, shallow, nervous breathing behind me as we slowly climbed further and further toward the landing.

 

I poked my head around as soon as I was clear of the steps a few seconds later to see if anything looked amiss - a paint container, the metal garbage can, anything that was made of metal and might have made a loud enough clanging sound that Justin would hear it all the way down on the first floor in the kitchen.  Initially, everything appeared to be in order; but as we both stepped up onto the landing, Justin clutched my arm while his fingernails dug into the tender flesh of my forearm, making me wince.

 

"Over there!" he cried out excitedly as he pointed with his free hand over toward the far end of the room.  There, lying on the floor next to one of his easels, were three of his larger-sized, silver paint cans; thankfully, they must have been ones that had been in the trash, because they were empty so no paint had been spilled on the hardwood floor.  That would account for the loud clatter that Justin must have heard earlier in the kitchen; However, it _didn't_ explain how the cans had wound up on the floor; they were presently lying on their sides in a haphazard fashion, the lids scattered nearby, several feet away from the nearest trash can located by the stainless-steel double sink that served as Justin's clean-up area.

 

"Well, that must have been what you heard earlier," I told him soothingly.  "That would have made a hell of a racket, even down in the kitchen."  I looked around the vicinity of the spilled paint cans, trying to figure out who - or what - had gotten in the space to move them, but nothing seemed out of place.

 

Justin bit his lip.  "Yeah... Maybe," he conceded as he stood there in pensive thought.  "But how did they get on the floor?  I put all of those used cans in the garbage under the sink." He lifted an eyebrow to stare into my eyes in silent question as I shrugged.

 

"Hell if I know," I told him.  "Maybe your ghosts graduated from rattling chains and needed something else for kicks.  It must be a real bitch not having the necessary mechanical equipment to really get off."  My voice automatically dropped an octave lower as I added, "They don't know what they're missing."

 

I saw Justin blush at my statement, temporarily forgetting his concerns before he huffed softly.  "Tease me if you want, Brian, but I tell you we're not alone here.   Maybe someone was murdered in this house and can't be at peace until their murderer is caught."  His eyes widened as he added a little breathlessly, "Maybe it was an artist and that's why he's throwing my paint cans all over the place to get my attention."

 

"Well, if there hasn't been a murder, there WILL be soon enough," I muttered as I rolled my eyes.  Grasping Justin's forearm I told him, "Come on, let's go back to the second floor - I need a shower."  I felt decidedly stinky after spending ten hours sweating in my suit in front of my laptop; I was in desperate need of a shower and some other accompanying, leisurely activities.

 

"But..."

 

"But _nothing_ , Justin!  It had to be some wild critter that broke in and scattered those cans around!  Now let it go, okay?"

 

Justin sighed but nodded; I noticed, though, that he continued to crane his neck to look behind him as we walked back over to the steps to begin our descent, no doubt making sure some Tony Perkins lookalike wasn't following us with a hideous, unkempt wig, granny dress, and a large butcher knife in his hand to stab us in the back.

 

* * *

_Later that Evening..._

Despite my partner's previous worries that we were about to be visited by the Angel of Death, I had managed to take Justin's mind off his earlier troubles with a thorough fuck in the shower and a nice, relaxing coupling in the hot tub; except for the imposing, walnut grandfather clock ticking at the far end of the hall on the second floor, no other sound could be heard now as we lay in our king-sized bed after Fuck No. 3.  I glanced over at my partner, admiring the flushed tone of his body and the glistening sweat on his chest as his lungs breathed in and out in an attempt to regulate his rapid pants of post-coital exertion, sounds that were in perfect synchrony with my own.  Even now, even after all this time, Justin could give as good as he got when it came to our lovemaking, one of the reasons why I would never, ever even consider straying from our relationship.  After all, when you had the consummate lover, why would you?  Well, that and the fact that I happened to be deeply in love with the little shit.

 

I reached over to curl my hand around Justin's shoulder as he smiled and instinctively turned on his side to snuggle up against me, laying his head on my chest as his left hand came to rest, palm down, right above my still rapidly-beating heart.  I heard a soft breath of contentment, unable to keep the smile from appearing on my own face as I held him close, his left leg tangled up with mine.  I began to close my eyes, all the worries of the day slowly seeping away...

 

We were just about to both drift off into a sated sleep when all of a sudden a rapid, skittering type of sound could be heard right above our heads, precisely where Justin's attic studio was located.

 

Justin wriggled in my arms before he bolted up straight in the bed, his face illuminated by the bright luminosity of the full moon's rays washing into our master suite.  "Did you hear that?" he whispered as he sat there, still as a marble statue.  "Tell me you didn't hear that noise," he dared me.

 

"Yeah, I heard it," I said nonchalantly as I picked at some imaginary lint on the navy-blue duvet, even though my pulse had sped up for some reason.  Trying to make light of the noise, I told my partner, "Maybe they're trying out for _Dancing with the Stars_.  Those workouts can be murder, especially that Fox Trot."  The skittering stopped just as suddenly as it had begun as I looked over at my partner, tongue-in-cheek with a slight grin.

 

Apparently, however, the ghosts weren't the only things that were dead; Justin's sense of humor was, too, at least for the time being.  I noticed his eyes flashing at me as he reached for the duvet and yanked it roughly over to his side of the bed.  "Hey, it's fucking cold in here," I protested over the abrupt loss of warmth, bodily or otherwise.  "What the hell are you doing?  Are you trying to freeze my fucking dick off?"

 

Justin stood up and quickly wrapped his body around the thick folds of the duvet, grabbing his pillow as he growled out, "I'm going to go sleep in the guest bedroom next door!" As he stomped over toward the door, the skittering began anew above us and he stopped dead in his tracks.  "Uh... What I meant was, I'm going to go sleep on the sofa!"  And with that he tromped over to the leather soft residing in the corner of our bedroom and plopped down, the duvet still wrapped tightly around his lithe body.  I tried not to think about what was underneath that cover - and what I could be doing with it to regain my warmth - as Justin lay down alone in a huff.  Sighing in disgust, thinking two could play that game, I finally reached down to retrieve the matching, Egyptian cotton sheet from the floor where we had tossed it earlier during our throes of passion and, pulling it up to my shoulders, pounded my pillow to fluff it back up before I flopped down on my back with a grunt in frustrated defeat.

 

After a few minutes, I thought Justin must have somehow drifted off to sleep, but it was not to be.  "Aren't you going up there?" I heard him ask unexpectedly after continuing to listen to the stampede above us.

 

"And spoil their fun?  Why?" I deadpanned from my place on the bed.

 

"You're fucking unbelievable," Justin snapped.  "Well, _I'm_ certainly not going up there."

 

"Suit yourself, JT," I told him as I deliberately turned onto my side away from my partner's prying eyes and tried to go to sleep as I feigned indifference.  Without Justin's warm body curled up next to mine like it normally was, however, I knew it would be difficult if not impossible to get back to sleep.  Hearing the continuing pitter-patter of heavy footfalls, I reached over to snag a third pillow from Justin's side of the bed, pulling it over my head to try and drown out the noise.  For ghosts, they certainly weren't very light on their feet, I decided.

 

* * *

 

I managed somehow to fall asleep once the army above us stopped about two hours later, just in time for the alarm clock to go off at 7 a.m., heralding another day at work.  I groaned; was it daylight already?  The fact that a familiar, warm presence was once more snuggled into my back from behind was another reason why I was so hesitant to rise, but I knew an extremely important client was due in the office first thing at 9:00, so it was a luxury I couldn't unfortunately afford to indulge in.  I smirked, though, realizing that Justin must have decided sometime in the night that lying next to me in bed was much more preferable than sleeping along with just his righteous indignation.

 

Disengaging myself gently from his hold on me, I turned over onto my back to look into my partner's peaceful face, unable to help reaching over to gently brush some errant hair away from his eyes, marveling as I always did at the flawless skin, the long, golden eyelashes that I knew masked a pair of glorious, sapphire-blue eyes, and a pair of lips there were just made to be kissed over and over again.  "My hero," I murmured lovingly as I leaned in to softly kiss his lips with just a whisper of a touch.  Justin's only reaction was to stir slightly in his sleep as he placed his hand on my chest and cuddled up against my shoulder, his head lying on my upper arm as he slept on, oblivious to my reluctant need to arise.

 

Glancing over at the clock to verify that I still had two hours before I needed to be at Kinnetik, I murmured "what the hell," as I gently pushed Justin onto his back and slowly peeled back the sheet still covering him from the belly down, licking my lips as I observed the beginning of an impressive woody starting to spring to attention under my appreciative scrutiny.  Grinning, I climbed over his body, propping myself up by my hands as I gave his dick a light swipe with the flat of my tongue, hearing a soft moan escape the full, pink lips from above, my own cock lying heavy and full against his thighs.  Emboldened by the encouraging sound and the signs of my partner coming back to life, I reached over and gently grasped the base of Justin's cock as I hollowed out my cheeks and descended upon his silky shaft in earnest with my lips.  I lifted my gaze periodically as I went to work, noticing my partner's eyes slowly fluttering open as he realized what was going on.

 

I reluctantly removed my lips long enough to smile at him lazily and murmur, "Good Morning, Sunshine," receiving a tender smile in return before I resumed my tantalizing task; I felt Justin's hands on my head, his fingers clenched in my hair as I stroked him and felt his body tensing with the pending signs of climax as I sped up my movements.  I felt a slight twinge of pain as Justin fisted my hair tightly in his hands, his steady moans and whimpers of pleasure making me hard and craving his own touch.  His half-plea, half-prayer of my name escaped his lips just before I felt the familiar tightening in his body and he came with an almost violent shudder under my expertise.

 

Licking my lips a few seconds later to capture any remaining essence of my partner on my tongue, I slowly crawled up Justin's body, feeling his heart beating rapidly against my skin as I came face to face with my lover.  I couldn't help grinning at him as I asked innocently, "Were you sleepwalking last night, Sunshine?  I could have sworn you went to bed on the couch."

 

I noticed the telltale blush on his cheeks as he answered softly, "It was cold over there.  And... I missed you."

 

I chose not to be a smart ass for a change as I answered truthfully, "Yeah, it was pretty damn cold over here, too.  I missed my duvet."

 

Justin smacked my arm as I chuckled.  "Shut up, you did not!  You missed _me_ \- and my ass; admit it!"  I laughed as he managed somehow to flip our positions so he was straddling my chest now, his luminous, blond hair falling into his twinkling, blue eyes as he gazed down at my face, making my heart lurch with emotion over how beautiful he was, inside and out.  God, how I loved this man so!  How he managed to plant himself so firmly in my heart was beyond my comprehension, though, but there could be no denying it.  I couldn't imagine my life without Justin in it now.

 

"Pretty cocky, aren't you?" I teased; I groaned like a first-time virgin, however, as he reached down and grasped my steel-hard cock in his talented hand and began to play with my slit with his thumb before he began to pump it in earnest and get down to business.

 

" _Cocky_ is right," he murmured as he leaned down to kiss me; a kiss that quickly grew passionate as our mouths opened of one accord and our tongues came out to duel each other for supremacy.  I sighed into his mouth as he expertly washed his tongue over mine, making my heart do somersaults in response as I placed my hands on his upper arms to steady him.  I couldn't stop the soft moans of pleasure that escaped my own lips each time our cocks rubbed together, signaling what was soon to come as Justin continued to stroke me to perfection.

 

"No," I finally managed to murmur against his lips as I broke off our kiss.  "I want to be inside you," I whispered as Justin nodded his understanding, twisting off my body to lie on his back.  I quickly reached for a condom out of the nearby nightstand drawer and grabbed the lube to prepare my lover as I knelt between his splayed legs, talking one more brief moment to admire the beauty before me as he gazed trustingly into my eyes.  Using my fingers to stretch him, I hit his sweet spot each time before, lining up my cock, I pushed into the most wondrous place on earth I've ever had the pleasure to know.  As we made love for what must have been the thousandth time or more, I couldn't help issuing a telepathic message to whatever ghost was watching us:  _Eat your heart out_ , _banshee._

 

* * *

_Same Day - Late Morning_

"Hey."

 

"Hey, Fearless.  How's everything at the spook studio?"

 

There was a snort on the other end of the phone before Justin replied, "I'd rather you not call it that."

 

I chuckled.  "No more signs of our predecessors?"

 

"No, thank God," he told me; I could hear the relief in his voice.  "And I've been able to get my last painting done for the art show downtown; just finished it about an hour ago."

 

"Way to go," I told him in approval, knowing how hard a time Justin had been having with his last piece.  The owner had already received four other completed works from him, but he had wanted one more impressionistic piece and for whatever reason Justin hadn't been feeling very inspired of late.  I was glad to hear, then, that he had finally managed to finish the canvas he had started on over two weeks ago.  The art show was scheduled for this coming weekend; it was some strange celebration of Halloween where the owner had asked for somber, even macabre pieces to go with the season.  Perhaps that explained why my partner hadn't been feeling too motivated - if I do say so myself, I think Justin had been feeling just too damn happy with me lately to paint such austere types of pieces, but it was what the owner had wanted.  "So what caused the last rush of adrenalin?" I asked.

 

"You have to ask?" he replied wryly.  "Hello... Last night?"

 

"Ohhhhh," I murmured in understanding.  "Well, then, see; they DID serve a purpose!"

 

"Brian..."

 

I rolled me eyes, even though I know he couldn't see me.  "Justin, please tell me you don't actually believe our house is haunted!  I thought we had cleared that up last night.  I'm sure it's just some wild animal that has gotten in somehow."

 

"I looked all over the attic, Brian; I couldn't find any hole big enough for an animal to get in.  It's locked up tighter than a drum, so explain how that's possible?"

 

I pinched my nose again with two fingers; why was I having so many migraines lately?  As if I had to ask.  "Justin, I have to go; we'll discuss this later, okay?"

 

I heard my partner sigh in resignation.  "Okay.  How late will you be?"

 

I chuckled.  "Don't worry; I'll be home before it gets dark and the spooks come out to play again.  Hey, you think they'd want to play a round of strip poker with us?"

 

"Fuck you."

 

* * *

_Late Afternoon_

True to my word, I pulled into the driveway of our home at precisely 6:00 - not exactly bright daylight, but at least light enough that it wasn't quite dusk.  Pushing the remote to open the garage, I exited the ‘Vette, noticing some sort of white, granular substance spread in a straight line just in front of the door leading into the garage.  Wrinkling my forehead in puzzlement, I turned the doorknob, again finding it not budging.  Sighing heavily, I called out as I knocked on the door, "Justin?  It's me - the human occupant of the house.  Open the door, for fuck's sake!"

 

Feeling like I was on a perpetual time loop, I waited a few seconds, hearing footsteps on the other side before the same scuffling noise I heard yesterday sounded and the door was opened a few seconds later.  At least this time Justin didn't try to jump my bones like he did yesterday (oops - poor choice of words, I guess).  I couldn't help greeting him a little differently this time, though, too.

 

"Boo!" I cried out as I raised my hands palms up in a predatory sort of way and pushed my tongue into the corner of my mouth as I grinned back at him; he was wearing a casual pair of jeans, a white tee-shirt and one of his favorite paint smock tops - a large, oversized denim shirt of mine that I had finally surrendered to him after I had literally worn it out.  Even with a couple of paint smudges on his cheek and some matching ones on his knuckles, though, I thought he looked decidedly sexy in my shirt, even if he WAS glaring up at me in indignation.

 

"Very funny," he told me curtly; he deftly dodged my mouth as I leaned down to try and steal a kiss, my lips winding up brushing his cheek instead.

 

I sighed; it was apparently going to be one of ‘those' nights again.  "Everything quiet?" I asked him, finding a roundabout way of determining if any more visitors had come a calling while I had been gone.

 

"Of course it's quiet now that _you're_ here," he reported tersely as he turned to walk over to the oven to open the door.  I watched as he commandeered an oven mitt from the counter nearby, admiring the view of his ass as he bent down to retrieve some sort of dish he had been warming inside.

 

I lifted one half of my mouth up in a wry smile as I reminded him helpfully, "But remember, they didn't start rising from the dead until about an hour later yesterday."

 

"Thanks for reminding me," he turned around long enough to glare back at me, his lips pursed tightly together.

 

"Mmmm," I murmured appreciatively - not because of his ass, although I HAD BEEN appreciating that, too, but because of what I smelled.  I gave it a whiff with my nose and thought I detected some sort of spicy meat aroma.  "What's for dinner?"  I asked, trying to get back in his good graces again.  Walking closer to the stove top where Justin had deposited the dish, my partner set it down before turning around to smile at me impishly. 

 

"What else?  Hungarian Ghoul-ash." 

 

I had to laugh as he relaxed and grinned back at me; it was good to see him smile rather than have that scared-little-rabbit look he had been sporting for the past two days.  "Ah, of course," I concurred with a smile of my own as I leaned down to take a look at the concoction of beef swimming with potatoes in a buttery-type sauce.  "Smells good," I had to admit as I straightened back up, taking advantage as I did to grasp Justin by the arms and lean in for a kiss, successfully this time.  I felt him smile against my mouth as we began to kiss, and it wasn't long before his arms twined around my back to pull me closer.

 

Several seconds later, we were interrupted by the sound of a timer going off; for a moment, I was afraid as I pulled back that I would see the same, apprehensive look on Justin's face that I had seen last night, but he appeared nonplussed by the sound and didn't seem worried at all.  "What was that?" I asked.

 

He grinned as he broke apart from our embrace to walk over to the refrigerator.  "It means my dessert's done chilling," he reported as he reached in and pulled out a sheet cake pan, along with a big bowl of salad that he placed down on the counter nearby.  I noticed some sort of decorations on top of the cake pan as he walked closer to me; I had to laugh when I recognized Cool Whip ghosts, candy corn pumpkins, and some sort of cookies standing upright resembling tombstones with "RIP" written with black icing.  "How creative, Picasso," I told him with a smile as he set it down.  "What do you call this masterpiece?"

 

"I call it _Ghosts in the Graveyard_ ," he told me as I rolled my eyes in amusement.  "I figured if I couldn't beat them, I'd join them - so to speak," he hastened to say.

 

I lifted my eyebrows.  "Very ingenious," I commented as Justin went to pick up the dessert to take it over to our smaller table in the kitchen; we normally preferred to eat there informally when it was just the two of us or with Gus, reserving the massive dining room table for larger functions with family and friends.  "But I'm not sure how well they'll take to you making fun of them," I pointed out solemnly in jest.   

 

I watched with regret as Justin's eyes widened at the thought and he seemed to pale a little as he stopped in his tracks.  I restlessly brushed some hair back from my forehead as I exclaimed, "Shit, Justin, now don't you go believing that nonsense!  Read my lips, Sunshine... There is NO such fucking thing as _ghosts_!"  I sighed heavily; I seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

 

Justin let in a deep breath and let it out between his perfectly-formed lips before he silently carried his ‘work of art' over to the table and set it down on the far end; I watched as he walked back over and pulled out a Halloween-themed drying towel from the drawer next to the sink, dropping it instantly into the trashcan underneath as he recognized pictures of Casper-like ghosts flying around on it.  I watched as he pulled out another towel from the drawer instead, solid cream color this time, and returned to the table to unfurl it and place it lightly over the cake like he was covering a shroud.

 

"Oh, for the love of..." I muttered as I walked over to the still-open drawer and pulled out a thicker, matching towel to place it under the hot casserole dish and carry it over to the table next to the cake.  Justin sat down silently in his normal chair as I walked back to retrieve the bowl of salad and two matching, wooden salad bowls.  As I spooned out some of the salad into the bowls and sat down next to him, I bowed my head and folded my hands.  "Dear Lord, thank you for this bounty you are about to bestow upon us.  And please keep us from any harm - unearthly or otherwise."  I didn't even have time to raise my head before Justin smacked me soundly with his hand.

 

"You asshole!" he cried out in disbelief as I rubbed my head over the injury.  "What if they really DO exist?  You've really pissed them off now!"

 

I picked up my fork and then, in anger, dropped it onto the plate with a loud clatter, almost as loud, no doubt, as the paint cans from last night.  "Okay, Justin, this is ENOUGH! I'm going to say it one more time - there are no such things as GHOSTS!  No Casper, no Beetlejuice, no Count Chocula, not even Divine or Natalie Wood!  They are all gone!  Either up there or down there!" I growled, bobbing my head up and down in emphasis to indicate direction.  "What you heard was some wild animal that somehow got into the house, period, end of discussion, okay?"  All I received from my well-articulated speech, however, was an icy glare.

 

Choosing to ignore my partner's sulking, I spooned some of the stew out onto my plate and picked my fork back up to take a few bites - it was tender and juicy, but the meat seemed to be lacking something.  Picking up the salt shaker, I noticed with some surprise that it was empty; Justin normally salted all his food to death, but I never usually touched the shit, so I was confused as to how it could be all gone.  Assuming, however, that I would not get an answer from my partner, I scooted back from the table with the salt shaker in hand and walked over to the pantry to look for the salt canister.  My confusion deepened as I looked for the object in its normal space and didn't find it.  Taking a chance that Justin was still able to speak - when he wanted to - I turned around with the salt shaker in my hand to ask, "Justin, where's the extra salt?"

 

I noticed he appeared to squirm a little uncomfortably in his seat as I stared over at him expectantly.  "Well?  We had at least half a container full the other day when I salted your popcorn.  Where is it?"  Just then, I recalled what I had observed earlier and a took a moment to look skyward for some sort of plea for sanity to return before I asked him quietly, "Justin, why is there salt over by the door leading into the kitchen?  Did you just happen to spill it in a straight line?"

 

His eyes flashed in irritation at me as he retorted, "No, I _didn't spill it in a straight line_ , you asshole!" as he turned his back on me to stare at the table's surface.

 

I stood there, hand on hip, the glass salt shaker still in my right hand.  "Then what is it doing there?" I pressed, unwilling to let the subject drop.

 

"I'm not telling you," was the childish reply as Justin clasped his hands together in front of him and laid them on top of his empty plate; any time my partner wasn't eating that was an ominous sign.

 

"I can just Google it," I told him as I stood there by the pantry and engaged in a battle of wills. After several seconds of silence, I finally heard Justin acquiesce.  

 

"Whatever, _Mr. Kinney_.  I read that if you spread salt over the doorway of your house, it will help to ward off...."

 

I closed my eyes.  "Don't say it," I urged him.  "Please don't say what I think you're about to say."  I was actually beginning to feel sorry for my normally independent, brave and courageous partner.  Was Justin slowly losing his mind, being alone so much upstairs in his studio while he painted?  He had seemed thrilled with the remodeled space and often tells me how much he loves using it.  Maybe it was some sort of quirky side effect to a type of formaldehyde poisoning instead, like those victims of Hurricane Katrina that had been forced to live in FEMA mobile homes.  _Yes, that must be it..._

 

A sudden inspiration hit me as I placed the salt shaker down on the counter nearby and walked back over to my partner, sliding my hands around his neck and feeling relieved when he didn't try to break away. I could still feel his stiffness underneath my touch, however, as I leaned down and whispered in his ear in my most sultriest of voices, "I'll tell you what.   Why don't we go away for a few days?  You've been wanting to check out that whitewater rafting tour over at Berkley; we could rent one of those luxury cabins with a Jacuzzi for the weekend and enjoy the foliage - in between fucking your brains out, of course.  I'll even perform my own personal exorcism on you.  And I'll stop at the store on the way and buy every fucking clove of garlic they have in stock - just to protect you.  As long as you don't eat it - I'm not kissing or fucking someone with garlic breath."

 

It was so quiet - and ghost-free - at the moment in the kitchen, I could hear Justin's soft pants of breath as I anxiously waited for his reply.  I was just about to wonder if he would respond - good or bad - when he finally twisted his head just enough to look me in the eye.  "Garlic is to ward off vampires, not ghosts."

 

I grinned, knowing I had him.  "Well, one can never be too cautious."

 

I reached to grasp him by the shoulders while I waited for him to scoot back from the table and stand up.  Pushing the chair out of the way, he melted into my arms as I placed my chin on his head and he snuggled against me.  _Ah - now that was more like it_ , I decided, as I slid my arms around him and just savored holding him close, our ‘ghoul-lash' quickly forgotten.

 

* * *

 

We spent the rest of the evening practicing my exorcism skills as I rimmed, rammed, fucked, and sucked my little blond into total exhaustion and firmly banished any remaining demons that dared to haunt us; as usual, Justin brought me to my limits as well with consummate perfection.  Now I lay with him in our bed in an almost identical replay from last night.  Well, almost; this time there was thankfully no skittering of footsteps above, just our lungs desperately inhaling some much-needed oxygen after our latest round of lovemaking.  I had my arm around Justin's bare shoulder as I lightly stroked the soft, warm flesh with my fingers and stared up at the gray, metal trey ceiling over our beds, nothing but the regular ticking of the grandfather clock lulling us both to sleep.  Tomorrow, we would travel to that outrageously-expensive cluster of luxury cabins Justin had been dying to check out, and secretly so was I; I couldn't wait to take my partner away for a few days with nothing between us except the two of us and seclusion - no work, no laptop, no painting, and best of all, no apparitions.

 

I could hear Justin's breathing evening out as I turned my head to bestow a soft, light kiss on his lips; I watched as he smiled in half-sleep as his breathing became deeper and deeper in slumber.

 

I was just about to join him in blissful sleep when a loud thud was heard directly above us; just like last night, Justin instantly bolted upright in the bed as he covered his hands.  "Not again," he murmured.  "Couldn't they at least have the decency to wait until we're gone tomorrow?"  I watched in surprise as he quickly rose from the bed and begin to search frantically for his jeans.

 

"Justin..."

 

"I've HAD it!" he yelled as he looked upward at the ceiling.  "Do you fucking hear me?  I've HAD it!  You have one minute to get the hell out or I'm coming up there!" I watched him look around in disgust before he turned to face me.  "Where are my jeans?"

 

I laughed.  "Justin, they're ghosts - why the fuck would they care if you're wearing any clothes?"

 

He stood there with his hands on his hips, looking highly affronted as well as adorably peeved as he huffed out, "Oh, so NOW they're ghosts and not a ‘wild animal?'  Well, I don't the fuck care anymore WHAT you think!  I'm still going up there!"  Sounding like a miniature version of Harrison Ford in _Air Force One_ , I watched as he gazed upward once more and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Get out of my HOUSE!" before he turned and stomped over to the door.

 

I watched for a few more seconds, my mouth agape, before I hurriedly scampered from the bed as one additional, even louder thud sounded above me.  Whatever it was, apparently our ‘guests' didn't have good hearing, because Justin's shouting should have awakened the dead... Uh, well, yeah, you know what I mean...

 

Hurrying to catch up with him, I plodded barefoot and naked down the dimly, moonlight hallway, seeing my partner reaching for the door leading up the attic; another thud, followed by a clang, sounded as I watched him hesitate for just a few seconds before he opened the door and disappeared inside.  Rushing at a trot now, I braked to an abrupt stop in front of the door and found myself only a few steps behind him, trying hard not to concentrate on the sight of Justin's perfectly-shaped ass swishing back and forth as he walked up the steps, directly in my line of sight.  _Stay on focus, Kinney,_ I told myself as I stealthily followed him.  I could see him falter somewhat as he reached the last step before the landing and another clattering sound erupted; this one sounded like it was only ten feet or so away and I watched him duck his head instinctively in reaction so he was out of sight of whoever - or whatever - was in the attic.

 

"Justin!" I called out in a sort of stage whisper, not wanting to scare him from below; he whipped his head around and placed a couple of fingers across his lips in warning as I quietly crept up behind him.  "Did you see anything?" I asked softly as I placed my hand on his shoulder and he shook his head no.

 

"Let me go up first," I found myself volunteering, even though now that I could hear the noise coming from merely a few feet away I found my previously steely resolve quickly disappearing.  Maybe he WAS right - there was an awful lot of noise coming from up there for it to be a wild critter.  I promised myself that if I went up there and felt a body pass right through me as it flew into the air or heard any howling noises, I was going to beat Justin down the steps.

 

He grinned, the little fucker, as he whispered in falsetto, "Save me, Rage."

 

I glared at him as I went to sidle past him, but not before he wrapped his arms around my neck and pulled my head down for a toe-curling, deep, not-nearly-long-enough kiss.   Our lips smacked as we separated and I thought surely whoever - or whatever - was bound to hear, but the banging and thumping continued.  "Be careful," Justin whispered as I nodded.  Wishing I had thought to bring some sort of weapon with me - one of those swords presently in the clutches of our knights in chain mail decorating the basement downstairs came to mind - I slowly crept up the two steps remaining before the top, carefully poking my head up over the surface to take a peek and expecting some sort of object to come whizzing by, but nothing happened other than the noises continuing.

 

Suddenly, however, I heard what sounded like toenails clicking on the floor not more than three feet away from me as a shadow of something went rushing by my head; I saw just the flash of devilish, almost glowing black eyes reflected by the moonlight peeking through the windows before I ducked down into the relative comfort of the stairwell.

 

"What?" Justin asked urgently.  "What did you see?"

 

"I don't know!" I called down to him.  "All I could see was some kind of shape rushing by and then these dark, beady-looking eyes.  It all happened so fast!"

 

Another clanging noise sounded even more loudly this time, almost like Justin did when he was fixing our dinner, before I felt my partner's hand on my arm.  "This is ridiculous!" he huffed as he started to walk past me.  "I'm getting to the bottom of this!"

 

I couldn't help thinking what a bottom it WAS, too, as he stomped up the steps this time - well, as much as he could with bare feet - and shouted at the top of his lungs, "I command you to GET THE FUCK OUT!" I could hear some sort of chattering type of noise now and several sets of feet seemingly bumping into each other in their rush to do just as Justin as demanded as I finally had a ‘duh' sort of moment and hurried down to the bottom of the steps to flip on the tract lights up in Justin's studio.  A few seconds later, I heard a noise coming from Justin which seemed quite incongruous in light of our situation - it wasn't a shriek of fright over seeing ghosts or a scream of surprise - it was a fucking _giggle_.

 

"Shit," I heard him in part disgust, part relief.

 

"Justin, what the fuck IS it?" I whispered up to him.

 

The noises quickly had abated as he grinned down at me.  "I know who our ghosts are now," he told him, his voice clear, strong, and devoid of any nervousness now.  "Come on up - they're gone."

 

I walked up the steps to join my partner as I took a look around; what greeted me reminded me of the first morning we had spent in bed together after I had decided to practice my tryout as a juggler for Barnum and Bailey Circus.  Paint cans were scattered all over the floor and Justin's spare easel was lying on its side against the far bookcase; even plastic bottles of water from the small refrigerator Justin kept in the corner were lying every which way all over the wooden surface, along with a couple of plastic plates my partner used for snacks.  Speaking of which, I also observed open packages of what used to be chocolate cream cookies, corn chips, and pretzels lying like used condom wrappers everywhere.  "What the fuck?  Ghosts that eat?"

 

Justin laughed.  "Well, I have no idea how they're getting in and out, but they're not ghosts.  Just bandits."

 

"Bandits?"

 

Justin nodded as he slid his arm around my waist and shook his head over the damage.  "Raccoons - about eight of them, I'd say."  He shuddered at the thought of that many of the extremely dexterous animals somehow making their way downstairs; if that had happened, the rest of the house would have been a total catastrophe.

 

"Raccoons," I murmured as I slid my own arm around Justin's waist, feeling him shivering slightly from the cool, night air.  "You sure that's what it was?"

 

He nodded.  "Yeah.  As soon as you turned on the light, they all went scampering off like rats escaping a sinking ship."  He pointed over toward the far wall near a row of bookcases that had been left there when we had moved in; Justin had taken a liking to them and had convinced me to keep them intact when the attic had been remodeled so he had somewhere to display his knickknacks and art books.   "They all went that way, so that must be where they're getting in.  But I have no idea how, though; I checked over there earlier."

 

"Well, unless they're the raccoons of Christmas Past, they had to get in some way," I pointed out as I led him over to the corner.  It took us about ten minutes of shaking our head in bewilderment and searching every inch of the space before we finally figured out how they were doing it:  apparently one of the previous owners had had a part of the bookcase constructed into a sort of secret, two-foot-tall door that could be swung open and then closed automatically behind you with the press of a finger on a certain spine of one particular book.  Oddly enough, it was a fake cover for some novel called "The Ghost of Crutchfield Hall."  We both grinned at the irony as we took turns playing with pressing the back of the book to open and then shut the door over and over again, discovering a small, narrow, approximately four-foot high passage that led off into who-knows-where on the other side.

 

"How in the world would they have even found out about this?" I asked in amazement as we both peered into the musty darkness, wondering where it went.  "You think they handed the secret down in raccoon gibberish from generation to generation, kind of like the great apes of evolution? And how did they even get the fucking door to open and close?"

 

Justin shrugged.  "Who knows? But we used to have raccoons back home that could open a metal garbage can lid - even after we put a bungee cord around it.  Have you ever seen them use their fingers? They're almost as talented at fingering as you are," he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

 

I grinned.  "Well, at least we know who our ‘visitors' are now." I stretched my back, trying to get the sudden stiffness out as advised him, "I'll call the exterminators first thing tomorrow, and that should take care of it."

 

"No, Brian!" Justin protested as we shut the door back and I searched for something to shove in front of the secret passage so they wouldn't make a return appearance tonight.

 

"What?" I asked as I motioned for Justin to help me move a heavy, overstuffed chair over against the secret door.

 

As we placed it firmly against the bookshelf, he explained, "I don't want them killed.  Can't we just have someone seal this up so they can't get back inside?"

 

"But we don't know where it comes out on the other end," I argued, knowing that I was going to lose this battle, just like I _always_ did when Justin wanted something.

 

"Can't they track it and find out where it goes?" he suggested.  "Besides, aren't you curious yourself?"

 

I had to concede he was right about that.  "Yeah, I guess," I admitted as he smiled back at me with the kind of luminous smile that always made my heart skip a beat.  "But not tonight, Sunshine.  We'll check it out tomorrow _before_ I call the remodelers.  In the meantime, since our uninvited guests are finally gone, I suggest we get some rest."

 

"What about the trip to Berkley?" he asked as he turned to face me, my other arm going around his waist to draw him close; our cocks slid together with delicious friction and I had to bite back a soft moan from escaping in reaction.

 

"What about it?" I asked as I saw his face fall in presumptive disappointment.  That is, before I added, "It'll still be there when we go - tomorrow _afternoon_ instead of tomorrow morning."

 

I thought my partner's smile would outrival the moonlight shining through the windows as he jumped into my arms and rained butterfly kisses of gratitude down my neck and face.  "I can't wait," he whispered excitedly as I smiled into his hair.

 

"Me, either," I admitted as I held him close.

 

* * *

_Twenty Minutes Later_

Surprisingly, we both seemed to silently decide that we had done enough fucking for the night as we elected to simply lie once more in each other's arms, legs tangled together as Justin played with a few strands of hair in my eyes.

 

"I'm so glad the mystery has been solved," Justin murmured as he snuggled deeper into my side.

 

"Me, too," I whispered sleepily.  "Now go to sleep, Sunshine.  You've got a painting to deliver tomorrow morning before we leave for our trip and I have some remodelers to call."

 

"Yes, Rage," he said dutifully with a soft laugh as he closed his eyes and was soon fast asleep beside me. 

 

Feeling my own eyelids growing heavy, I was about to join him in slumber before I thought I saw a shadow flitter across the bedroom door in the dim moonlight filtering in through our large windows.  Frowning, I lifted my head off my pillow to look over at the doorway, my eyes widening in shock and my heart beginning to pound as I observed an older-looking gentlemen with a long, flowing beard standing there as if he were suspended about two feet off the ground, wearing some sort of old-fashioned, ruffled shirt, breeches, dark-colored boots and a topcoat.  He was holding a lantern that was swinging back and forth like a pendulum, the flame flickering gently with the movement.  Even though the constantly-moving man appeared ethereal and glowing, I could distinctly make out his smile and wink as his glowing eyes seemed to bore right through me.

 

_No, this can't be happening,_ I told myself as I tightly squinted my eyes shut and then opened them to find the image gone.  I sighed in relief as Justin reached to pull me closer to his body as if he knew I needed reassurance. I dared one more look at the door to make sure our visitor hadn't returned before, convinced I had imagined the whole thing, I slowly closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

 

 

 


End file.
